Room 222g

You. Yes, you - to you I speak. You

Will never have the knowing. No, no,

Never shalt thou know: for in your

gloomed

Skull a pantomime is played -

Outside where beats down heat

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There is no watering place, no holing up -

No where can be found the leastest trickle

In the rocks of gods

In the garden of rocks

In the harsh unshadowed land

Where I have forgotten

How this strange conjunction

Of striding morning shadows,

Inverting rising in meeting,

Was revealed to me - in a handful of-

A man with a blazing brow

Showed me fear in transformal

Primal dust, until, after the rain of red rocks,

I writhed in Wagnerian,

That Hitler (and I) so loved. (But we both

loved/feared grails and waters.)

We reappeared at the ending time,

And all applauded -

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The the dew sparkling hyacinths

Had you shine with smile

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